Broken Arrow
by Amberly Y
Summary: Read the new chapter! The Huntsman is accidentally brought back to life by an evil sorcerer who wants to rule The 10 Kingdoms. All hell breaks loose, and The Huntsman may be the only one who can stop the evil sorcerer and save the 10 Kindgdoms.
1. Default Chapter

If you had told The Huntsman formally known as Mr. Hunter, (one week before all of this took place) that he was going to die from a misplaced shot fired from his own crossbow, he would not have believed you. In fact, he most likely would have shot you, after a brief discussion on how it was your destiny to die now, not his. Then he would have gutted you just for fun. Regardless, whatever violence he could have inflicted upon you while he was alive didn't matter anymore, because the fact remained that he was dead. Dead and still lying face down on the table where he had fallen, a bolt still sticking out of his back.  
By that time most of the guests had been ushered out of the enormous room where the fake Prince Wendell's coronation had taken place. Some of the royal guards and a hand full of police officers were milling about, surveying everything. The Queens corpse still lay on the floor surrounded by a few onlookers, and Virginia, who stood nearby with Wolf at her side. She hadn't taken her eyes off of her dead mother's body. It looked like it might be a while before The Queen's body was moved.  
The only ones who noticed The Huntsman at that point were two totally random talking mice, who were perched on a teacup next to his body. They had been observing everything since the coronation began; now they were avoiding mousetraps and watching the commotion. "Well," Said one of the mice to the other. "This has certainly been an eventful evening." "Indeed." Replied the other mouse in its squeaky little voice. "When do you suppose their going to take this unfortunate fellow's body away. It's giving me the shivers seeing him laying there like that." "I expect they'll take him away soon, it's been nearly an hour."  
From across the room somebody began walking towards the table that the mice and the dead man inhabited. "Quick!" Squeaked one of the mice. "Move your tail! Someone's coming!" Then the mice scampered away, never to be heard from again in my story.  
Two men approached the table and stopped a few paces away. One man was a palace guard, and the other was a police officer by the name of Gregory Dice. Gregory could scarcely believe what had happened at the palace. He had only heard of the Queen a few times before in passing conversation, and he'd never perceived her as any type of threat. So it was a huge surprise to him when he learned that she had almost successfully poisoned every guest at the coronation...and nearly overthrown the government.  
Gregory and his fellow officer, David Birch were summoned with the other officers in the room. Having been told that something big had taken place at the palace and that there had been two deaths. David Birch had headed over to the dead Queen as soon as he walked into the room, and began collecting details from the people around her. That left Gregory with the job of getting the second casualty out of the way, and giving it a once over so it could be delivered to the morticians down the road. When he saw The Huntsman's corpse he knew that he would truly hate his assignment.  
Cringing, Gregory looked down at the body. The wound where the bolt had struck The Huntsman had begun seeping blood, and there was a large, dark-red stain running down the back of his brown over coat. Gregory hated blood, and gore in any form, and he knew that when he removed the bolt blood would spill all over the damn place. He most certainly wasn't looking forward to his task, but work was work.  
On the ground next to The Huntsman, Gregory spotted something on the floor. Taking his eyes off the dead man, he peered curiously at a crossbow he saw laying there. He knelt to pick it up, and found that it was heavier in his hands than it had looked on the ground. Nobody saw him pick up the bow, if somebody had seen him with it they might have stopped him from carrying it away. Gregory slipped it under his overcoat and told himself that he was taking it for evidence. Fate had other plans, and Gregory was lying to himself.  
Turning to the guard next to him he asked. "Is there a place in the palace that we can take the body. I want to make short work of this."  
The guard looked at him thoughtfully, then nodded. "Down the hall, plus a few turns and down a flight of stairs there's a small morgue reserved for the occupants of the palace." He instructed. "We can take him there for now." "Good." Replied Gregory. "Would you give me a hand dragging him down there? This wont be easy to do alone." "Yeah. Sure." The guard replied unenthusiastically.  
To spare you the details of the trip down the hall, plus a few turns and down a flight of stairs, I'll just pick this back up at the door to the morgue. Gregory and the guard deposited the body on the ground; the guard fumbled with a large metal ring of keys, and the door was opened. It was a small boxy room with latched shutters over its one window. A lantern burnt just outside of the window, mounted atop an awning that was used as a decoration. Some light from the lantern slipped through the shutters, casting a dim glow into the room, but it wasn't nearly enough to see by. The guard stepped into the room leaving Gregory alone in the hall with the body.  
A few seconds later the strong glow of a lantern drifted from the room into the hall. The guard returned, kneeled down, and taking the dead man by the collar of his coat, dragged him (with some effort) into the morgue. Gregory followed him, and got a good look at the room around him. He could immediately tell that the room had not been used for a few years. There was a thin layer of dust covering everything, including the disturbingly out of place painting of a dandelion on the wall next to a row of body bags that hung from large steel hooks.  
The very dead Huntsman was propped up in a corner, and the guard turned to Gregory for further instruction. "I can take it from here." He said, trying to sound professional. "I just need to pull the arrow out of him than take a few notes. You can go for now if you want to." Than Gregory turned his back on the guard, and turned his attention to the body. "Ass..." The guard mumbled under his breath while leaving the room. Angry he hadn't even received a word of thanks. He shut the door forcefully behind him. The sound of the door slamming echoed eerily around the room. Shadows from the lantern danced on the walls, and grew onto the ceiling. It would have made a great room to tell horror stories in, but the effect went unnoticed by Gregory, who was kneeling on the floor next to The Huntsman. "Alright my friend." He said speaking to our dearly departed. "You have gotten yourself into one hell of a predicament. Mind telling me exactly how you got that arrow stuck in your back? Nobody up there bothered filling me in."  
The dead man said nothing. Gregory hadn't expected him to. Reaching out his hand and pulling the body forward he examined the fatal wound in The Huntsman's back. Gregory realized with dismay that it would take some effort to pull it out, it had really shot itself in there deep. "Right into the heart." He murmured. Gregory was perplexed. The only thing he had been told was that the cause of death was accidental, that he hadn't been shot by anyone else. Which made absolutely no sense. It looked like a deliberate shot, and he had certainly never heard of anyone shooting themselves in the back before.  
Gregory turned all of this over in his mind, when a thought struck him. He remembered the crossbow he'd found on the floor by the body. That might have had something to do with it. He reached into his coat and retrieved the concealed crossbow. It was a wicked looking, but beautifully crafted bow. It had a silver hawk head with gleaming emerald eyes at its front that made it look positively menacing. Gregory had never seen a crossbow like it, and he wondered how the dead man had gotten it. Shrugging, he slipped the bow back under his coat. Then he smiled, and said aloud. "You won't be needing it anymore."  
Taking a deep breath, and grabbing hold of the bolt in the dead mans back he counted to three. 1...2...3...Pull! The bolt didn't offer too much resistance, but it did make a stomach turning tearing noise when it came out, and as Gregory had predicted there was a lot of blood. Gregory got to his feet as fast as he could and set the bloody bolt down on a shelf next to him. He was disgusted to see that his hands were covered with blood, he suddenly wanted more than anything to get out of the room. He grabbed a towel that was hanging nearby and rubbed away the blood covering his hands.  
Deciding that he had done his part thoroughly enough, he decided to forget about the dead man. He would just have David Birch take care of the mess. By tomorrow this whole nasty business would be behind him. But Gregory couldn't have been more wrong. In exactly two hours Gregory would disappear, never to be seen alive again, the crossbow he had stolen would be stolen again, this time from Gregory's cold dead hands...and The Huntsman (who at that very moment was waking up in hell.)Would be anything but dead by noon the next day. 


	2. Broken Arrow Chapter 1: Once Upon a Time...

In this day and age there are only two known ways to travel back and forth between dimensions. In actuality, three hundred and twenty ways exist, but only two have been discovered so far. In the world of the Ten Kingdoms one of these ways is to find a magic mirror, turn it on, then go through. The other is simply to die. Once your life ends you slip through the curtain of this world and into another. Since the land of the dead is rarely considered to be another dimension, the fact that it is has become sort of a secret that very few living people know. One hour and thirteen minutes after his death The Huntsman stumbled onto this secret. 

* * *

There had been a horrible pain, a desperate feeling of shock and disbelief, a sudden flash of light, and then everything had gone black. For a while the blackness remained, and like the fog that covers a field at twilight it shrouded every aspect of existence, concealing all that lay beneath. There were no thoughts, and no feelings, just an empty void that allowed only for the faint sensation of weightlessness. It was like drifting through a deep and dreamless sleep without having any sense of yourself.  
After an indiscernible amount of time the blackness began lifting, revealing what it had been hiding. Consciousness began to reawaken. Then, as suddenly as the darkness had come, it vanished and in its place stood a vast forest. (If at this point in the story its vague beginning confuses you, I apologize. Having never died myself I can only speculate as to what The Huntsman went through after his death. So if you'll bare with me while I attempt to tackle one of life's greatest mysteries, I'm sure you'll find it rewarding.)  
The land of the dead stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction, and standing in it's midst, looking around himself in utter confusion, was The Huntsman. The Huntsman recognized a forest when he saw one, and he could also recognize when things were amiss. He was definitely in a forest, and he knew that something was most assuredly amiss.  
The forest had not been there a minute ago. The woods were dark, and the trees grew close together, making it impossible to see clearly for more than a few feet past the tree line. The Huntsman stood stone still, surveying the scene that had appeared out of nowhere. His keen eyes crept over every inch of what he could see, not letting a single detail go unnoticed. As he looked around, his mind flooded with questions, but his instincts told him to stay calm and observe. When he was sure that there were no threats to himself lurking around, then he could figure out how he had come to be there.  
He took his eyes from the forest beside him, and turned his attention to what lay in front of him. He found that he was standing on a narrow dirt path that led through the forest. Dense underbrush grew over the path in some places, and it wound forward as far as he could see before it took a sharp bend to the right and disappeared into the trees. While he stared intently at the patch of woods the path had vanished into, something above the trees caught his attention.  
The tower of a castle poked its way up above the treetops, and stood a gray, stone silhouette against the sky that coincidentally, was a similar bleak shade of gray. What is this place? The Huntsman asked himself, as he looked warily up at the castle tower. He hastily brought his gaze downward, and combed his eyes once again over the forest on either side of him. He still could not perceive any danger, visible or other wise. But an unexplainable feeling of dread had begun to rise in him when he saw the castle tower. His instincts told him that something was horribly wrong...like something very important was out of place. The Huntsman couldn't put his finger on exactly what was so strange about his surroundings, but his instincts never lied. How did I get here?  
Pushing back the confusion that had begun to cloud his thoughts, he began listening intently to the forest, waiting to detect any sounds that could be of significance. There was nothing. Everything was absolutely still, there were no birds calling to one another in the trees, not a single small animal upset the underbrush, and not even the faintest breeze rustled a single leaf on the trees that stood looming, like tall, dark sentinels guarding the forest. If anything lived amongst the trees and plants it was betraying no sign of life. The Huntsman had lived in a forest his entire life, and never once could he remember a time when the forest had been so quiet that it was virtually impossible to detect a single sound. It was an unnatural calm, like the stillness of a grave...Or the presence of death.  
A chill crept up the Huntsman's spine. If there had been any thing living in that forest, he would have been able to hear it. Instinctively he reached for his crossbow, something was very wrong with this situation and he needed to be ready for anything. His crossbow was usually hanging at his side by a strap that went over his shoulder. He never left home without it, but today something had changed. His crossbow was not there. "What the fuck?" He exclaimed out loud, alarmed that his crossbow wasn't where it had always been. Where's it gone? He hastily checked the ground around him, then for good measure he double-checked the inside of his coat. It had vanished! The Huntsman's confusion quickly gave way to anger. He needed his crossbow back.  
He cursed and began to pace back and forth. Calm down and think. He told himself. He paused, and looked back over his shoulder to the castle sticking out of the trees. He needed to rationalize all of this. When he figured out the circumstances of his arrival there, then he could set his sites on getting back his crossbow. He concentrated on any possibilities that could have caused this. The possibility that he could be dead never crossed his mind; instead another idea popped up.  
  
The forest had appeared out of thin air. Now, the Huntsman knew that entire forests didn't just appear out of nowhere, unless of course things were helped along by magic or some other force. That's it, magic. He assumed, trying to logically explain his situation to himself. Some soon-to-be-dead person used magic to put me here, and then they used a memory charm on me so I wouldn't remember who did it. That seemed reasonable...Sort of. It certainly didn't give the Huntsman much reassurance. So who's to blame for my being here. That was a good question, but more importantly, why did they do it?  
He didn't need to ponder that for very long, because he easily answered his own question. Don't be stupid, you know why. Somebody must be trying to stop you from helping The Queen take over the Fourth Kingdom. You've been sent here simply so you can't protect her of course. Think about it. That made perfect since, and it also made the Huntsman angrier. Someone was playing games with him. When he found that person, the Huntsman thought furiously, he would make them suffer until their last breath.  
Although the Huntsman could still not detect any immediate dangers in the area he drew one of his hunting knives. Reaching into his coat to find the knife at his side the Huntsman found himself half expecting the knife not to be there, but to be mysteriously gone like his crossbow. He was relieved when his hand closed around the knife's handle. Happy to find that he still had a weapon on him, he pulled the knife out of his belt where he had it hooked. The Huntsman held the knife up in front of him, and flipped it into the air, skillfully catching it by the blade. Anybody wanna come out and play?  
The Huntsman's number one priority quickly switched from assessing the danger in his situation, to finding answers. He was discovering nothing by just standing around, staring suspiciously at trees. He needed to get moving. Who knew what danger The Queen could be in? Perhaps if he hurried everything would be all right. Maybe the Queen was just fine right now, and his absence would go unnoticed. Don't get your hopes up. In fact I'd start fearing the worst if I were you. A cold little voice inside his head whispered. You still haven't had the sense to figure out where you are.  
The sky above him had begun to change from an overcast gray to a dull shade of purple. The Huntsman couldn't tell exactly how much daylight he had left, but it would definitely be best to get moving now. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure nothing had crept up behind him. The forest was as still as ever, and the Huntsman lowered his knife warily. Get moving. He reminded himself. Turning his attention forward, he started down the path that lay ahead of him.  
As the Huntsman walked along at a slow pace, keeping his eyes fixed on the woods around him he began to wish desperately that he had his crossbow with him. Just because there was no danger at hand didn't mean that he wouldn't encounter any when he reached the castle in the distance. He wished even more that he could remember how he'd gotten there. He began to search his memory, trying to discover any clues that would explain his situation. The Huntsman was genuinely disturbed by his lack of memory; he couldn't stand not having his thoughts in check.  
Recalling the last memories he possessed, he continued following the path. He had been in Wendell's castle, and the Queen had been pulling off her plans to poison all of the guests at the coronation. Everything had been going according to plan for the most part. The girl and her father had gotten into the castle somehow, and they were trying to stop The Queen from achieving her goal to put the imposter prince on the throne. It had come as quite a shock when the girl had claimed to be the Queen's daughter. I mean damn, her daughter? The Queen had never mentioned having a daughter before.  
The Huntsman recalled that the girl's dopey father had called the Queen 'Christine'. The man had apparently been her husband at one time, and that revelation had thrown him even more. The only name he had ever called the Queen by was "My Lady", he hadn't even thought before about what her real name was...and her having a husband as stupid as that guy? The whole thing was unbelievable.  
Still having no clue as to what to think about all of that, the Huntsman came to the very last memory he had before his thoughts dropped off into a black hole. The girl had somehow escaped the cell he'd thrown her and her father into at the Queen's bidding. She had made her way up to a small balcony that overlooked the room that the coronation was taking place in. The Huntsman had been waiting there, leaning against the wall opposite the balcony, standing guard and anticipating everything that could possibly go wrong. The girl had rushed past him, not noticing his presence. She had looked down at the people gathered in the room below; ready to warn them of the danger they were facing. That's when he had come up behind her and grabbed her, covering her mouth with one hand, and restraining with his other arm. "You only get to watch." He had told her...and that was it. Try as he might he could not remember anything after that.  
The Huntsman looked up at the castle ahead of him. He had a feeling that although his day had been strange so far, it was going to get a whole lot stranger. He was right. When the Huntsman reached the end of the path approximately five minutes later, he found another surprise waiting for him. The path ended, and so it seemed the forest did to.  
Sticking straight up out of the ground were two huge brick walls that stood adjacent to one another. The dirt path turned into to a stone walkway that ran right through the middle of them, creating a border. Two small, stone raven statues sat atop the end of either wall, glowering downward at the ground below. A wooden sign that read "Keep Going" was hung around the neck of the raven statue sitting on the left wall.  
Although the Huntsman was glad to see a sign of life, he hung back suspiciously, staying close to the tree line. The existence of the stone walls marked a sign of civilization. This meant that people were nearby. The Huntsman let the thought of interacting with other people swirl around his thoughts.  
As eager as the Huntsman was to discover where it was he had ended up, he harbored mixed feelings about speaking to anyone. The Huntsman was not a people person in the least. He preferred to keep his contact with others to an absolute minimum, and he only spoke to other members of the human race when it was necessary. When you live inside a tree in the middle of a magic forest, and hang up no trespassing signs all over the place your people skills tend to get a little rusty. Aside from all that there remained one big pressing reason to stay away from people.  
The Huntsman was not unheard of throughout the Nine Kingdoms. He was well known, and feared. He lived in, and pretty much owned the Disenchanted Forest. For the past ten years he had been building a dangerous reputation for himself. The first thing that contributed to his reputation was the fact that he served the Queen. The Queen was more feared than he was. The second outstanding issue was the fact that the Huntsman was a notorious murderer.  
He was the Queens Huntsman, and he did her so-called "hunting." The Huntsman specialized in hunting people, and he was really more of a hit man than a Huntsman. If the Queen wanted someone killed she only had to summon him to do the job for her. He was damn good at what he did, nobody (unless of course they were Virginia, Wolf, Tony, and Prince Wendell) ever escaped The Huntsman. He was extremely proud of his reputation.  
This goes without mentioning that he slaughtered anyone, and everyone that strayed off the paths into his forest and chose to ignore the no trespassing signs that he had spent so much time putting up. The Huntsman had accumulated quite an impressive body count. That was the reason why he couldn't just saunter up to any random person on the street and start rambling on about how he had no idea where he was, or how he'd gotten there.  
He did have one thing that worked to his advantage, and that was the fact that not many people knew what he actually looked like. That was one good thing about being anti-social, most people who actually saw him and knew who he was didn't live to tell the tale. It was lucky for him that the description of a big guy, with long brownish-gray hair, and scary eyes that a frightened witness or two gave from time to time wasn't very detailed.  
Well...He thought. If anyone does happen to recognize me, I'll just cut their throats before they have a chance to say anything. The Huntsman hoped it wouldn't have to come to that, he didn't want to make a scene or attract unwanted attention. At the moment there was no other option but to keep going down the path. So, not wanting to waist more time than he already had, The Huntsman walked slowly towards the stone walls.  
As he approached, the two small raven statues atop the walls seemed to be glaring hatefully at him, their unseeing stone eyes eternally narrowed. They were unsettling, but the Huntsman didn't pay too much attention to them, instead he looked curiously at the sign. It seemed odd that somebody wrote on it "Keep Going." Keep going where? He supposed he would have to find that out for himself. Continuing onward he stepped onto the stone path in-between the brick walls. The walls cast the path entirely into shadow, and it was much darker there then it was outside of the walls.  
The walls didn't follow a straight path, for as the Huntsman walked along the walls curved this way and that, and the path zigzagged along with it. Along the way he encountered another sign that hung from a metal peg, jutting out of the wall. It read "You're Almost There." Now the Huntsman was really curious to know what lay at the end of the enclosed path. He picked up his pace a bit, and within seconds he was standing once again out in the open.  
It was if he'd stepped into a whole new reality. The world was no longer deathly silent as it had been back in the forest, but filled with voices and activity. A small, fully populated town was spread out behind two large metal lampposts, which lay directly in front of where the walls ended. In-between the two lampposts a third and final sign was hung, it read "The Village at the End of the World: Congratulations, you've kicked the bucket, now take a number." Below the sign, on one of the lampposts hung a stack of white cards, each with a number written on them.  
The Huntsman stopped short, and looked around wide- eyed. Why hadn't he been able to hear that there was a town close by? Had he lost his wits along with a chunk of his memory? He looked at the people in the village ahead of him, like everything else he'd seen since he arrived he felt like there was something off about them. The whole place looked strange as a matter of fact, there were several small houses that looked to be in a state of extreme disrepair. There were trees, along with a hedge here and there that matched the run down state of the houses. The trees were leafless, and twisted at odd angles, they looked like they'd been dead for some time. If the Huntsman had known what The Twilight Zone was he would have surely thought that he had stepped into it.  
He raised an eyebrow, and looked at the sign chained to the lampposts. The Village at the End of the World? He had never heard of it before...and what was the "kicked the bucket" remark about? He looked down at the lamppost where a stack of small white cards was hanging. He pulled one off and peered at it, looking dangerously confused. Written in black technical type, was the number "600978434331 to the 5th power." He contemplated tossing the card on the ground and forgetting about it, but instead he slipped it into his coat pocket. He wasn't sure why, but the little white card seemed significant.  
In the street that ran through the village ahead of him, one person turned their head in the Huntsman's direction and glanced at him. He needed to blend in as soon as possible; he would have felt more comfortable if he had had his hat. Being inconspicuous was much easier when one wore a long overcoat and a hat. Oh well.  
He slipped past the lampposts that marked the village entrance, and walked towards the row of houses to his right. He kept his head slightly down, and glanced suspiciously at the people around him. Nobody seemed to be taking much notice of him, everyone around him looked to be pretty much preoccupied with their own affairs. Something was definitely strange about the people, but the Huntsman didn't want to stare at anyone and get a stare back. Instead he looked up at the houses.  
They were poorly built and lined up in rows that kept going as he walked further down the street. It looked like a condemned housing project. He saw a face in one of the windows, that disappeared as soon as he took notice of it. The houses began spacing out, and soon the Huntsman arrived at a house-sized building that had a sign hanging out front that read "Waiting Room." Somebody had spray painted on the buildings shattered window "New arrivals check in here."  
The Huntsman stopped in front of the building, and looked in through the shattered window. He could see chairs lined up against a wall, and woman sitting in one of the chairs, he looked closer at the woman and realized that she appeared to be bleeding. He squinted to get a closer look, and confirmed it. The women's wrists were gushing blood. He blinked and stepped away from the window. Was this a doctor's office of some sort?  
The door to the building was hanging from its rusted hinges. Maybe he could get some answers if he asked around in there. He took his eyes off the window and headed for the door. He was about to reach out and pull the door open when a man with a knife stuck in his stomach rushed through the door at an alarmingly fast speed, and nearly knocked the Huntsman over. The Huntsman jumped backwards just in time, avoiding a collision. The man with a knife in his stomach tumbled out onto the street, and ran away like a bat out of hell.  
Thinking twice about going through the door, the Huntsman stared down the street after the guy who was fleeing the building. That man had a knife sticking out of his gut, he shouldn't have been able to stand. It was definitely peculiar, but the Huntsman decided to enter the building anyway. Reaching for the door cautiously, he pushed it aside and slipped into the building. The building was lit by a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Having never seen electrical fixture before the Huntsman would have found the light bulb interesting.... That is if he hadn't been so preoccupied by the man behind the desk.  
Usually one doesn't get on very well without a head, but the man standing behind the desk seemed to be doing just fine. He wore a neon yellow tee shirt with blue jeans, and had a matching yellow baseball cap sitting atop his severed head. His head was tucked neatly under one arm, and it smiled pleasantly at the new arrival that had just stepped in. "Hey there pal." The headless man said. "That's some long hair you got. Say, are you a hippie?"  
The Huntsman stared in total disbelief at what he saw; desperately trying to rationalize how a severed head could be speaking to him. The man behind the desk set his head down on the desk, facing the Huntsman. The Huntsman began backing away slowly, understanding now why the man with the knife in his stomach had left in such a hurry. The head rolled its eyes and said. "Relax pal, I'm not gonna to bite you. The names Phil. I'm the secretary here."  
Headless Phil didn't receive a response, only a shocked stare. The head began looking annoyed. "Listen freaky hippie dude, just give me your name and the number you picked up at the gate."  
The Huntsman made no move to give the man the number card in his pocket, nor did he tell Headless Phil his name. "Excuse me." He said instead. "It looks like I've finally gone completely insane. I'm not going to be able to have this conversation with you right now. Come talk to me when my sanity has returned and your head is back in its proper place."  
They were both distracted for a moment by the women sitting on the other side of the room. She yelped slightly, and held up her wrists, as if she had just realized that she was bleeding. "As you can see I have other people to get to. So if you please, hand over your number!" "I don't think so." The Huntsman said no longer bothering to conceal the knife he held. "Oh come on!" Phil said angrily staring disapprovingly at the knife. "What the hell are you going to do? Cut my throat? You've got a lot to learn about being dead Mr. Hippie." "Do I look dead to you, you headless moron?!" The Huntsman snarled, waving his knife at Headless Phil.  
Sighing, and picking up his head off the desk Phil said sarcastically. "Ok you old scary hippie, I suppose that thing sticking out of your back is just an extreme body piercing or something." "What!?" Demanded the Huntsman, glaring at Phil.  
Phil's disembodied head looked carefully at the Huntsman then began looking a little shocked, as if an idea had just struck him. "Hey, you're not The Huntsman are you?" "What's it to you?" The Huntsman asked still holding his knife in front of him. "Ok then, Ill take that as a yes." Phil replied. "The boss wanted to talk to you. Man either you are really, really lucky or you're in some serious goddamn trouble. You might as well have a seat and wait till The Gate Keeper comes to get you." "What! Listen, "The Huntsman lowered his knife and approached Headless Phil. "Were am I? Who are you? What do you mean, there's a thing sticking out of my back? Who do you work for? Who is this "Gate Keeper" supposed to be? And where's my hat? Tell me dammit!"  
If Headless Phil could have shaken his head he would have. "Alright hippie Huntsman dude, take a seat while I try and explain this." But Phil didn't get a chance, because at that moment there was a knock at the back door of the building. "Yo!" Headless Phil shouted, and at that, the door was pushed open and in stepped a huge stone gargoyle, with wings and the body of a panther. It looked briskly around the room then set it eyes on the Huntsman. The Huntsman was so shocked he nearly dropped his knife. The gargoyle gave the Huntsman a strange look, and then said in a gravely voice. "Death is ready to see you now."


	3. Chapter2: The Visitor

The day Dante Demaskis came to the small fourth kingdom town of Enchantment Haven he brought with him a black raven on his shoulder and an unseasonable chill to the air. He arrived shortly before the sun rose, slipping in through a back entrance to the town he made his way to a pub nearby. Most of the town's residents hadn't yet woken to start the day, and for a while Dante went unnoticed. In a town like Enchantment Haven, where nothing out of the ordinary ever happened, and all of it's residents had settled into a normal routine of undisturbed, small town life it was easy for evil to slip in through the back door. This was the case of Dante's arrival. He knew that nobody in the unsuspecting town was likely bother him and he could do as he wished.

Dante did nothing at first, besides observe that the town hadn't changed a bit since last he'd seen it five years before. Leaning against the side of the pub, he waited for the sun to rise and the day to begin. He was not bored or impatient as he watched the colors of the dawn light up the horizon, he felt exhilarated by the promise of the day ahead and the potential it held. After years of waiting for this day to come it had finally arrived. Dante smiled a smile made nearly invisible by the hood that covered most of his head. It wouldn't be long now until things would be set in motion, great and powerful things that would change all touched by them forever. Dante didn't know the whole extent as to which these events he anticipated would actually reach, but he knew beyond a doubt that to fulfill his destiny it was up to him make these things happen.

Perched on Dante's right shoulder a large black raven sat, shifting from side to side and bristling it's feathers tensely as it's tiny cold eyes darted this way and that. The bird did not share Dante's current spirit of happy anticipation. Dante became aware of the bird's nervous behavior, and quietly, almost whispering he said. "Soon."

"Not soon enough." The bird replied sharply.

"Calm yourself Sevra." Dante said, his voice quiet and cold. "It's almost time."

Reluctantly the raven did what she was told and settled down, although she continued to glance around suspiciously. Dante looked up toward the horizon, within an hour it would be completely light outside and the streets would be filled with people beginning another day of their lives. It wouldn't matter to Dante if anyone saw him or spoke to him, but it would matter to the man that he was in town to meet. His contact took residence there, and due to the secretive nature of the man, and his certain magical ability that some of the local homely townsfolk could easily find disturbing he kept a low profile. If anyone saw him speaking to a stranger that nobody in town recognized people might get curios and begin asking questions.

Because of this, Dante waited before setting out down the main street that ran through the town. It would arouse suspicion if someone were to glimpse him sneaking around before dawn, just as much as it would incur curiosity if they saw him speaking with his contact. Timing wasn't a big concern for Dante so much as possessing what he had come there to get was. The more he thought about the reward that waited for him, the more his spirits lifted. Endless possibilities flowed in and out of his thoughts. He would have unimaginable power; he could strike fear without even trying into anyone he wished, he would command great respect out of all that knew of his abilities. Dante's thin smile widened as he thought about what might be. As long as he received what he'd traveled there to get all of this was within his malevolent grasp.

After Dante reached an intersection in the road which he walked he turned left and started down a small dirt street, half the size of the one he'd just stepped off of. The raven on his shoulder bristled her feathers and took flight, soaring along in front of him then landing on a fence post a couple of yards away. She looked back at her master and waited for him to catch up. Dante stared ahead of him, looking forward at the forest that bordered that edge of town sticking up behind the houses furthest down the street. He could see the building he was headed toward, it was the one that sat closest to the woods. Its roof was one story higher than the house neighboring it and Dante could see from where he was that's its patched roof had suffered significant water damage and most of its shingles were gone. When he reached the building it was confirmed that time hadn't been kind to it.

The last time Dante had seen the building it had been a fully operational store that specialized in selling rare and magical antiquities. The store had once been complete with a sign that had proudly bore its name above the front door, "Five Points of the Silver Moon" That sign had once read, not anymore though. Now that same sign had been flipped backwards, and nailed across one of the second floor windows. All of the windows had boards nailed across them in the same manner.

The reasons for the stores disrepair puzzled Dante, the owner, as far as he knew had been doing well with his business. It was the only store of its kind with fifty miles and it was hard to imagine why it had been, by the looks of things, closed indefinitely. Stranger things had happened though, so he didn't give it much thought.

The smile that he'd worn while brainstorming the many benefits that possessing what he'd come there for faded from his face slowly until his features were blank, and his black eyes were as cold as stone. Ahead of him, not far past the fence post that Sevra the raven had perched atop, sitting silently by a row of unkempt hedges, watching Dante intently was a small silver fox. Emerald green eyes narrowed inquisitively, ears forward; the fox swished its tail back and forth impatiently.

When Dante reached the fence post he stopped, and the raven flew back to her perch on his shoulder. For a few fleeting seconds Dante and the fox regarded one another. The fox took no pleasure in seeing Dante again, the man looked exactly as he had five years ago and the sight of him still made the fox's hair stand on end. Demaskis wore a long, black traveling cloak with leather straps that cris-crossed his chest, and wrapped around his waist, holding the cloak shut. The cloak covered his entire body down to his boots, making it impossible to tell if Demaskis concealed any weapons. From under the hood he wore Dante's shoulder length, black hair fell down on either side of his face. His face was thin and his skin was pale, but his deep-set black eyes made him look menacing. A small beard had begun growing on his chin, extenuating his features. Dante appeared to be in his early thirties and he was handsome in a way, but any good looks he had were down played by the tattoo on his forehead. Above his eyebrows, inked square in the middle of his forehead was an inverted pentacle star. The star had an open eye needled into its middle, and a circle was drawn around the star, all of the stars five points touched the circle.

A smile returned to Dante's face. "Hello Seth, I hope your doing well."

The fox rose from sitting to standing in one brief movement, and making eye contact with Dante drew back its lip's in a grin that would have looked to most like a ferocious snarl. "Don't play games with me Demaskis, you're late."

"That's no way to greet a friend." Dante replied with an amused edge to his voice. "I'm precisely on time. Like I told you, five years, three hours, twenty minutes. I've come to visit."

"Spare me. I expected you to be here before daybreak." The fox said tersely, slipping by Dante to the decrepit store nearby. "I've been waiting."

"So have I." Dante said quietly. "I've been waiting for the past seventeen years."

Pausing by the side of the building, the fox looked down at a small hole dug where the brick met the ground. "Than I suppose it wouldn't kill you to wait another ten minutes."

In the blink of an eye the fox despaired down the hole, leaving Dante and Sevra to themselves. As soon as the fox was out of sight Dante turned to Sevra. "Stay here and keep watch." He told her.

"No." She replied stubbornly. "I want to see what it is he has for you."

"Listen," Dante said, feeling his patience begin slipping. "Your reward will come when this is all over. Now just do as I tell you."

Begrudgingly the raven stayed, saying nothing more. No sooner had Dante finished his sentence then he was off, walking over to the front door of the building. He waited by the door, curiously admiring the old bronze doorknocker in the shape of a lion head nailed to it. A moment later he heard the sound of footsteps on the other side of the door and the distinctive sound of a lock being fiddled with. The door swung slowly inward, and standing there regarding Dante unenthusiastically was Seth, no longer in the body of a fox, but in his original form, human. His human form bore some similarities to the fox Dante had spoken with outside. Green eyes, silver-gray short, bushy hair, and a matching beard. Seth wore a black vest with a green shirt, and faded black pants, suggesting that his change from human to animal was purely magical and didn't affect his wardrobe.

Seth stepped to the side and let Dante pass. Without a word Dante crossed the store's threshold and stepped into the room beyond. No sooner had he taken two steps into the store then he heard the door shut behind him, and a deadbolt slip into place. Seth didn't bother making small talk with Dante; he headed over to a counter on the northern most side of the room and slipped behind it, reaching under the counter to retrieve something. Dante on the other hand, stayed where he was looking about the room, taking his own sweet time. He didn't want to betray to Seth how desperate he was to get his hands on the thing it was that was waiting for him here. The inside of the shop was considerably better cared for than the outside. There were four display cases setup around the room all of them containing antique trinkets of all kinds, and even though the store hadn't had a costomer for three years all of the cases were spotless. Nowhere in the room could Dante see a single speck of dust. The walls and the floor were wood the color of dark mahogany, and they made the entire interior's atmosphere dark and gloomy. Dark as it was, the store still held an undeniably appealing air of mystery. The general lack of light in the room fit perfectly with its decorations. The walls were covered with strange pieces of art and tapestries, all with a subject matter based firmly in the occult. Indeed on one wall a giant rug was hanging baring the same pentacle symbol that Dante had tattooed on his forehead. The store and its merchandise were defiantly fascinating to behold.

Of all the curios things surrounding Dante however, one thing stood out above all others, it was the thing that had immediately drawn his attention upon entering that store five years ago when he had come there as a customer. The room had a high ceiling that peaked in the middle and hanging there, suspended by wires, huge and malevolent was a bleached white dragon skull. Dante stood gazing up at it, wondering how Seth had managed to keep it cobweb free. He wasn't curios enough to ask. Turning away from the decorative dragon skull, he strolled over to the counter where Seth stood. Seth was eyeing Dante impatiently, on the counter he had placed a small decorative chest. When Dante saw it, his eyes lit up, and he grinned. "Good work Seth!" He murmured excitedly. "I knew I could count on you."

Dante reached out quickly to take the box from Seth, but to Dante's great displeasure Seth lifted the box out of his reach before Dante could lay a finger on it. Dante looked questioningly at Seth and began to speak out in protest. He was quickly cut off.

"Hold on Demaskis. I have some news to fill you in on first."

"Did everything go well?" Dante asked, suddenly concerned.

"Mostly, yes. This damn thing was nearly impossible to get to, let alone steal. I had a hell of a time sneaking into that building."

"But you do have it?" Dante asked.

"Yes. I managed to get it. The catch wasn't stealing it, the catch was dealing with your associate."

"Brent?"

"Yeah, Brent. That's what he called himself anyway, Jeremy Brent. Well the problem is that Mr. Brent died when he was retrieving this."

Seth reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, glass cylinder of red liquid.

"Exactly eight ounces of dragons blood." He informed Dante, holding up the cylinder. "Just enough to make this thing work." Seth patted the small chest, then set it back on the counter. "Pity about the dragon. You know there are only about five of those animals left in the Kingdoms? I can't say I've lost any sleep over the demise of Jeremy Brent though."

"He killed the dragon and this is all the blood you managed to get?" Dante looked alarmed.

"Sorry to disappoint, but killing dragons' wasn't my job. Brent tracked the dragon for two weeks before he cornered it. Worst place in the world to force a dragon into a showdown I tried to tell him, a cliff over the sea. I guess the dragon wanted to hide in the caves along the cliffs, but it got its head chopped off instead. I saw it all." Seth continued. "Brent wounded the dragon, and then the dragon panicked and grabbed Brent, nearly ripped him in half. Brent took his axe, sliced the dragon's head off and they both fell backward over the cliff into the sea. Their bodies washed away, and I had to scrape this blood off of a rock. Take it or leave it, you still owe me what we agreed upon."

Dante looked displeased, but at least Seth had done what he'd needed him to do. Seth held out the small vile of dragons' blood toward Dante. Dante took it and slipped it into his robe. He was angry with Seth and the other man he had hired, Jeremy Brent. Brent had seemed to know what he was doing when Dante had enlisted his service, and the last thing he expected was that Brent would be stupid enough to allow a dragon to push him over a cliff. People could be so inept.

"Now . . . " Seth said, reaching down and turning the clasp on the engraved chest sitting on the counter. "Here is your precious artifact."

Seth opened the lid on the box revealing a gold object in the shape of a looped Egyptian cross. Even in the room's darkness the gold on the object shone brilliantly. Dante held his breath and slowly reached down to lift it out of the box. Holding it up he studied every inch of it. It was solid gold except for the engraved figures of two intertwining white snake's wound around the base. Above the snakes, set into the gold and covered with a transparent metal, were three small leaf fragments. The leaves were incomplete and decayed, they looked out of place in such an ornate object but they pleased Dante more than anything else in the world could have.

"Perfect." He said quietly, in awe of the object he held. "Perfect. Thank you Seth."

Seth leaned forward across the counter and looked Dante square in the eyes. "I know what that thing you've talked me into stealing for you does Demaskis. And I truly hope that something kills you before you have the chance to use it."

Dante did not reply, but his eyes narrowed dangerously.

Turning away from Dante to put something in order on the wall behind him Seth said.

"Now its time for our part of the deal Demaskis. You owe me one anti-transformation potion, and the promise that you will leave today and never return as long as I live. I don't want to ever see you again."

While Seth had his back turned Dante had carefully placed golden object, with the, images of snakes and embedded leaves into an inside pocket in his robe.

"Don't worry Seth." Dante said quietly. "You won't ever see me again." He paused. "I promise."

Seth thought he heard something strange in Dante's voice and he began turning around to see what Dante was up to. He turned just in time to see the silver gleam of a blade coming down on him. Like a flash Seth jumped to the left as a human and hit the ground a fox. The transformation took place in less than a second and the dagger Dante had pulled on Seth slammed down into the counter, smashing the glass that covered a good portion of it. Dante wasted no time and jumped over the counter to destroy Seth, but Seth wasn't there. Dante was just in time to see a white and silver tail disappear into a small hole next to the wall. Cursing, Dante cleared the counter once again and ran to the door, fumbling with the dead bolt than throwing the door open. He rushed out onto the porch and looked around. The fox was fleeing toward the woods near the store, and by the time Dante got off of the porch the fox had completely disappeared into the forest.

Sevra cawed, and stretched out her wings, alarmed. "What was that?" She exclaimed, seeing Dante holding his dagger, gazing furiously into the woods where the fox had disappeared, his eyes blazing angrily. "Want me to go after him?" Sevra asked, getting ready to take flight.

"No." He replied abruptly, continuing to stare into the forest. "We should leave town now."

The raven nodded and flew over to Dante's shoulder. He put the dagger away, and looked into the street on his right, than the forest to his left. "I have everything I need."

Exasperation and adrenaline surged through Dante for a few moments, and at first he was unable to shake his anger. He had failed to kill Seth. Seth knew too much. Seth needed to die.

Dante started back along the street he had followed to get to Seth's. Up ahead of him he saw some towns people crossing the street. The sun had completely risen now and the town was nearly in full swing. As he walked, he thought about what had just happened, and gradually his anger began to wear off. After all, he had everything he needed now, the dragons blood, the sacred object . . . all in all everything had gone well. Seth was a minor setback. He would come back another day to finish off Seth, but now there was no time to waste. He had to prepare for the ritual he would perform tomorrow.

By the time Dante reached the intersection in the middle of town his bad mood had totally lifted. Thoughts of what he could now make possible returned to his mind. Anything he desired he could obtain, he could have absolute control over his fate and the fate of others. Soon Dante thought, soon he would be stronger than death.


End file.
